Measure and the Truth

by Doug Niles

  “How will the Prince help hold the bridge?” asked Ankhar warily.

  “With a wall—a wall of the dark god’s magic,” his stepmother explained mysteriously. “It will fill the dwarves with terror.”

  “Good,” the half-giant muttered. “Build this wall on the bridge; terrify the dwarves so we can kill them all!”

  He watched in awe as his stepmother hoisted her death’s-head talisman and rose into the air, taking flight. The aurak cast a magic spell to follow her, while the sivaks flapped their great wings. All together, more than forty of them zoomed into the air, soaring high above the stunned, disorganized dwarves.

  Their destination was the bridge—the only route of retreat out of the town.

  “It looks bad,” Dram said, agreeing with Swig’s assessment. “Let’s hurry to the bridge, then. Sound the retreat!”

  He grabbed his wife by the arm and turned to go. He glanced over at the stone bridge, pretty on its three neat arches, that was the only way out of town except for the narrow side valley leading up to the first mines excavated at New Compound.

  “Up there—look!” Sally cried suddenly, looking elsewhere.

  “By Reorx, what’s that?” demanded Dram, at first thinking that a dense flock of massive vultures had soared down from the mountains. Very quickly he saw that those vultures had legs and arms, tails and crocodilian faces, and that they carried very deadly looking weapons in their hands. “Flying draconians?” he cried in alarm. “Swords up—make ready for attack from above!”

  But it was immediately clear that those draconians were not going to swoop down on the thousand alert, aggressive dwarves milling in the center of the town. The formation flew past the dwarves, high up and out of arrow range, and the creatures started to dive down. Dram and Sally exchanged frightened looks.

  Their objective was the bridge. The flying draconians came to rest along the length of the span, turning the neat stone structure into an organic arch of flapping wings and hissing, clacking jaws.

  At the same time a new, dangerous commotion arose from the south. The ogres and their allies were attacking along the entire front, bursting up from the lakeshore, scrambling through the lumber yards, pushing up the main road, and pouring down every side street. Dram immediately saw the peril—retreat was cut off, and the waves of attackers had them trapped on all sides.

  “We’ve got to clear the bridge!” Dram cried.

  “I’ll go,” Swig shouted back. He was closer by a hundred yards, and with a loud, “You louts, come with me!” he rallied two hundred dwarves to his side. They sprinted for the bridge.

  Squinting past them, Dram realized someone was waiting for them on that bridge. A grotesque creature, a withered old hobgoblin dressed in feathers and beads, was waving a club that seemed to be made out of a human skull, dancing and chittering at them. She was perched on the highest arch of the bridge.

  “It’s that old hob-witch,” the dwarf said to no one in particular as he was running hard, breathing hard, and surrounded by other dwarves. “She was with Ankhar every step of the way. But she’s not going to stop us, not with a hundred draconians. We’ll cross that bridge and set off the charges and buy ourselves a little time.”

  Just then the hob-wench shrieked triumphantly. When she waved her wand, it crackled with flame, green fire sizzling all around her. She howled in exultant glee as sparks flowed onto the paving stones of the bridge, spilled over the sides, and hissed into the water. A wall of fire erupted, completely sweeping across the width of the span, soaring high, searing hot. Gouts of sparks cascaded down, tumbling along the paving stones, making the bridge so hot that even the draconians leaped and scampered to get away.

  One of those sparks made swift contact with the fuse of the largest demolition charge, which led to a huge cask full of black powder. The powder exploded in a searing flash, blowing the entire middle arch of the bridge—not to mention the cackling hobgoblin and several dozen draconians—into tiny bits and pieces.

  A column of fire spewed straight into the air, shrouded by smoke. A moment later the huge sound of the blast, a single, startling boom, swept over New Compound. The noise echoed off the cliff walls over and over.

  And even before the noise faded and the dust settled, Dram knew that their only retreat from New Compound had been cut off. They must stay there and die.

  Or they could desperately seek hiding places in the mines with their children.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  OUTMANEUVERED

  Selinda didn’t yield to her despair until Lame Hale left her alone, after once more tying her securely. She had never felt so alone, so overpowered and completely helpless. Hale could do whatever he wanted with her, and no one would know. The dam of her emotions burst, and she sobbed until her heart was drained.

  At some point she drifted off to sleep, though it was an uncomfortable rest, and she felt constrained by the bonds on her wrists and ankles, tormented by dreams of an unimaginable fate. Sometimes her tormentor was Lame Hale; sometimes it was her husband or father. She was by turns drugged, bound, or imprisoned, but always compelled to move in some direction she didn’t want to go.

  When she awakened, she had no idea how much time had passed. She felt better somehow, and her mind was clearer. She found she could think more clearly, though that was little comfort as her only thoughts were questions. Why was Hale doing this? What was to be her fate?

  She was frightened but had regained some equilibrium when the door to the room opened and Lame Hale entered. Perhaps she would learn something, though what she learned might be better not to know.

  Her captor brought a waterskin and, limping over to the bed, held it up so she could sip some liquid. She lifted her head then fell back and glared at him. She spoke through the fuzz in her mouth.

  “Is this water? Or is it another dose of your Red Lotus?”

  Hale chuckled, a cold and unpleasant sound. “This is just water. The lotus is far too precious to waste on one who is already a captive.” He looked oddly thoughtful. “I have already been paid very well, but I have to maintain my profit margin.”

  Reluctant and distrustful but overwhelmed by thirst, she took a few sips of the water. Insofar as she could make it out, the taste was pure, and though she distrusted Lame Hale, the water felt good.

  For the moment it seemed as though Lame Hale were concerned primarily with business. In fact, he suddenly sounded a lot like her father—more concerned with making steel than with her emotional needs.

  “We have a schedule to maintain, and I must deliver you on time. Your ship is sailing on the evening tide,” he informed her, speaking as if he were reading from a bill of lading. “You will be taken aboard at the last moment, under careful guard. And you should know that if you raise any sort of alarm, the captain would much rather throw you overboard than have to explain your presence to the authorities.”

  “Where is the ship going?” she asked, heart sinking.

  “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough. Don’t worry yourself about things you can’t do anything about. My mother always told me that,” he said cheerfully. “Some of the best advice I’ve ever received.”

  “I’m surprised to hear you even had a mother,” Selinda retorted. “Which plane of the Abyss did she come from?”

  The man blinked as though he were offended and she felt a momentary glimmer of satisfaction.

  “That’s enough talking,” he snapped, getting to his feet. “It’s time for you to go to sleep!”

  “No!” she protested. Sleep was the farthest thing from her mind.

  Yet even as she spoke, the word came out slurred, thickened by her clumsy tongue. What was happening? Her eyes flashed to the waterskin then saw the gloating on Lame Hale’s face.

  “You … you drugged … drugged …!” She couldn’t even finish the accusing sentence before darkness claimed her again.

  Even as the debris from the blown bridge continued to rain down from the sky, splashing into the water, Dram realized the n
ear-hopelessness of their situation. The only path of retreat for the dwarves was gone; if they tried to run through the woods and cross the stream lower down, the ogres could chase them down and slaughter them with ease.

  The ogres who had been charging around the lake once again started forward, while the closer wave of attackers—which included the half-giant Ankhar—crowded the road into town. With the enemy closing in on New Compound from two directions, the defenders had only one choice, one place where at least they could hold out for a while—the same place where the elders and children had gone to seek shelter before the battle.

  Glancing up the valley at the heights looming over the town, Dram saw the three mine entrances gaping darkly from the mountainside. Each was a large, square hole with a steep approach; a few stout dwarves might be able to hold the gap indefinitely.

  “To the mines!” Dram bellowed, waving his arms. He was gratified when dozens of dwarves, hearing him, echoed the call.

  “Flee up the ridge and into the shafts! We’ll make our stand at each entrance!”

  The cry spread. The dwarves moved as one away from the town, racing up the many steep paths leading to the nearest belt of mine tunnels, carved into the ridge looming directly over New Compound. The healthy helped the wounded, while some of the steadiest warriors—including Dram and, to his chagrin, Sally—fought a desperate rearguard battle against pursuing ogres.

  Dram and Sally stood side by side on one narrow trail. They pounded their axe and hammer down into the faces of the few ogres who tried to climb up. One of the brutes tumbled back down the mountain, his face split by Dram’s blade; another dropped like a felled ox when Sally’s hammer connected with his skull. Their ogre companions held back for a moment, but when Dram charged toward them in a frenzy, swinging his axe through vicious circles, their pursuers decided that it would be better to go back down and loot the town rather than chase the crazy dwarves into their holes.

  Fortunately, the plunder spread and the pursuit waned—no ogre wanted to leave the best booty to his companions—and the fleeing dwarves quickly scrambled higher and higher. Soon the first of them were filing into the mines, the rest queuing up outside each of the three tunnels.

  Gradually the entire surviving population of the town disappeared into the mines nearest to New Compound. The first to enter continued to move deep into the mountains, while the last of them gathered at the tunnel mouths, ready to make a stand. Weapons at the ready, Dram and Sally took their places with a few other sentinels at the mouth of the central mine; other warriors were posted at the mouths of the mines to their right and left.

  Their positions were strong; even if attacked, only one ogre could enter a mine at a time, and with two or three dwarves in his path, the defenders should be able to hold for a long time.

  And the mine shafts, Dram well knew, were more than a mile deep. They were stocked with many casks of fresh water and a smaller amount of nonperishable food. If the ogres quickly sacked the town and moved on, they might just manage to survive.

  “Oh, come in, Melissa,” said Coryn, answering her front door herself because Rupert was running errands in the market. “It’s been too long!”

  “Thanks for seeing me,” said the young high priestess.

  “Sure. Come up to the laboratory. I am making a potion and need to keep an eye on the temperature.”

  The high priestess of Kiri-Jolith followed the white-robed wizard up the wide marble staircase leading to the second floor. Sunlight spilled through a row of windows on the south wall of the long laboratory. The workroom of magic was neat and tidy in a cramped kind of way. Volumes of books lined the shelves, with similar bindings catalogued on the same row. Components were stored in matching white bottles with labels and black stoppers; the different sizes of bottles were all lined up with matching sets.

  The place had been designed by Jenna the Red Lady, but the priestess was not surprised to see that Coryn the White was adding her own touches while the house’s owner, the reigning head of the Orders of Magic, lived in the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth Forest.

  Melissa and Coryn, while not fast friends, had both been instrumental in disrupting the power of the Dark Knights in Palanthas. When the Knights of Solamnia launched their coup, the priestess had used spells of darkness and silence to help the rebels achieve surprise. At the same time, the white wizard had caused whole Dark Knight guard garrisons to fall asleep. Her lightning bolt, cast only reluctantly because she disdained killing, had broken the Dark Knights’ defense in their last redoubt. After the battle, the priestess’s powers had allowed many badly injured men to survive and recover from their wounds.

  As Melissa du Juliette took her seat and Coryn adjusted the bellows and flue of her fire, the wizard sensed that the other woman had come to her manor on a matter of some grave concern.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Have you heard from Selinda lately?” the priestess responded. “She vanished from her palace chambers three days ago, and no one’s seen her or heard of her whereabouts.”

  “No, I haven’t heard from her or talked to her in some time,” Coryn replied in a measured tone.

  She was surprised at the jealousy she still felt toward the woman who had married Jaymes Markham. Her anger toward the emperor had faded during the weeks since she had seen him, but hearing the very name of the woman who was to bear his child caused her a strange disquiet.

  Then, remembering the magic ring she had given to the princess, she also felt a stab of guilt. “She hated being locked up,” the wizard said cautiously. “But she … she had the means to get out of there.”

  “I know. She came to visit me,” Melissa said. “While Jaymes was gone to Vingaard, she used the ring you gave her.”

  “Oh?” Coryn didn’t know what to say.

  “Yes. Did she tell you how she felt about her pregnancy?” asked the priestess. Melissa was only a few years older than Coryn, but her eyes showed the wisdom of an elder.

  The wizard decided not to dissemble. “She told me she wasn’t sure she wanted the child. I—I gave her the ring because Jaymes was keeping her a prisoner in her room. I couldn’t tolerate the thought.”

  “I think it was good you gave her the key to at least some degree of freedom,” Melissa said. “She told me the same thing about the baby. She was terribly frightened—of so many things—but eventually we teleported to Vingaard to confront Jaymes. When she saw the damage he had done to the keep there, she lost heart and decided not face him. So we came back home.”

  “I didn’t know that,” admitted the enchantress.

  “There is more. A guard—he didn’t know who we were—told us that the daughter of Lord Kerrigan had come to see the emperor the night before, to plead with him to cease the bombardment. Apparently she came in the middle of the night and stayed until dawn. And that is when he ordered the gun to cease firing. When Selinda heard that news, she was deeply upset.”

  “I can understand why,” Coryn declared, nodding and feeling a pang of heartache for her rival. “Have you seen her since then?”

  The priestess shook her head. “I went to call on her yesterday, just to say hello, and the guards told me she hadn’t been seen for days. They were terribly worried, of course, and wondering if they should send word to the emperor. But he’s on the other side of the mountains, looking for Ankhar. What could he do from there? And besides, she could be anywhere in the world.”

  “Yes.” Coryn said, grimacing. She shook her head. “This is my fault. If I hadn’t given her that ring—”

  “Don’t talk like that!” Melissa retorted. “We both know he had no right to imprison her. You gave her the means to get out of her cell! That wasn’t wrong.”

  The white wizard sighed. “Do you have any ideas where she might have gone?”

  “I … I hope she isn’t trying to do something—to hurt the baby,” the priestess admitted. “I fear for the state of her mind.”

  “So do I,” Coryn replied earnestly
.

  “I was hoping we could look for her together,” said the cleric.

  “Combining our skills, yes. I will seek her with magic.”

  “Very well,” said Melissa du Juliette. “And I will try to gain an answer from the gods.”

  Ankhar watched with numb disbelief as the massive tubes of the uncompleted bombards burned. In a mad frenzy, the ogres had tossed the unfinished barrels into a great heap, doused them liberally with oil, and ignited the conflagration. Normally the half-giant would have relished such a fiery spectacle, proof of his army’s triumph. But the emperor’s guns had been decisive against Ankhar in the Battle of the Foothills. Those great weapons, the next generation of savage new armaments, were destroyed without firing a shot. He wished that he could have had a chance to use them.

  Worse, the great, searing explosion of the bridge had cost him the life of the person dearest to him in all the world.

  “Laka!” he wailed, slumping to the ground, beating the stones of the plaza with his fist.

  Pond-Lily watched him warily from nearby. She was still bleeding from the cuff he had given her when she had first offered her sympathies. Her eyes grew moist as the half-giant pressed his face to the paving stones, groaning and wailing.

  When he finally caught his breath and raised his head, he saw that his ogres were watching him in amazement. Some of them had stepped away from him as he thumped and wailed, while others—including Bullhorn and Heart Eater—had actually sidled in closer. These two would bear watching, the half-giant suddenly realized.

  Ankhar got on his feet with a snort. He reminded himself he could not afford to show weakness, especially not after his warriors had won another great victory—destroying and sacking a town belonging to the ogres’ traditional enemy, the dwarves.

  Thrusting his chest out, he swaggered around the central plaza, sneering at the great fire rising from the cannon factory, then turning to scowl at the still-smoldering remains of the stone bridge. Some of the buildings in the town were burning heartily, while others were still busy being trampled, plundered, and looted.